Eye Over Ishbal
by FullMetalIdiot
Summary: A young Hawkeye's journal documents her experience in Ishbal from her first confirmed kill through the Ishbal Massacre to enemy surrender. A 2 Part Series 1st POV // Militaristic


**Title: **Eye Over Ishbal - Part 1 of 2

_This is My Rifle, This is My Gun_

**Author: **FullMetalIdiot / JamminBison

**Rating:** PG-13 for language and descriptions of war

**Type:** Diary Entries // 1st Person

**Characters:** Riza Hawkeye, mentions of Hughes and Fuery with later mentions of Mustang and Bradley in Chapter 2.

**Word Count:** 2,822 words

**S****ummary:**

A young Hawkeye's journal documents her experience in Ishbal from her first confirmed kill through the Ishbal Massacre to enemy surrender.

Part One: The metal of targets has been replaced with flesh and the reality of war is quick to break in even it's newest recruits.

**Notes:** All research comes from books, studying, and discussion with fellow history/military nerds. If anyone wants to defy me with real world military/sniper knowledge, you are more than welcome to criticize and/or flame my ignorance. Canon fact is stretched here and there for the sake of realism. Bear with me here!

Inspired by _Trigger Men: Shadow Team, Spider-Man, The Magnificent Bastards, and the American Combat Sniper _by Hans Halberstadt and Volume 15 of the FMA manga, particularly Chapter 59: The Immoral Alchemist.

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Part One

**This is My Rifle, This is My Gun**

_Fr_o_m the journal of Cadet Riza Hawkeye, Age 19_

Day One

21 July 1907

Sector 16 - Western Ishbal

2039 hours

Today I arrived in Ishbal with my soon-to-be graduating class. The convoy that followed alongside us carried with it a fresh batch of soldiers from Central all ready and rearing to join in on the fight. I must say, I am just as excited to be getting field experience and for the opportunity to help my country. That may be naive on my part, but news of the conflict over the radio has had me preparing for this trip since our one instructor announced it. I don't know how many times I've checked and double checked my rifle, a training Model 1888 Commission Rifle that were issued just before deployment so we could practice on the range, but I can say that if not prepared, I'll be over-prepared for our first assignment. Weapon-wise, anyway.

When we got to Sector 16's camp, many of my peers decided it was a good idea to socialize as apparently the area's platoon had managed to drive off a large group of insurgents today. That's all well and good, but a waste of time since we had hide spots to locate. That was a simple matter since plenty of buildings are vacant due to a prior evacuation of civilians, at least in this part of the city as big as it is, so only the military occupies the area. That means we won't be engaging the rebels per se though we will be guarding the camp. Our instructor said that was an insult to trained snipers, wasting our talents or whatever it was he complained about, but this is the first assignment for all of us.

I'm optimistic for it myself.

----

Day Three

22 July 1907

Sector 16 - Western Ishbal

2209 hours

I'm not sure I know how to feel about today. Early this morning we set up a hide spot in an abandoned home just north of camp. We split up into four-man squads for our first ever operation, which at first had the men in a buzz. I'm not sure why, it's not as if we were in an area of operation that was easy to get to. Our position was there to wean us into real combat, which there isn't much of with the location near the camp being relatively secure.

The day was a _bore, _almost. Almost, because despite only a dozen or so civilians coming into my binos view (I've never liked being spotter) there came a moment, just before the sun was about to go down, where a suspicious Ishballan came into view. He was about 300 meters rounding a corner at a jog, obviously frantic to get somewhere fast with a rifle in hand.

He was fair game.

I called out, "Spotter up!" and expected to hear my partner shuffling around to line up the shot, but instead I heard nothing. Instead, he just laid there staring through the scope. I pulled away from my binoculars and said, "What are you doing?" and he flinched and muttered back, "Sniper up," but he wasn't prepared to take the recoil, breathing unsteady with a shaky resolve. In my mind he should have been excited for the chance to take a shot, between me and him we hadn't pulled the trigger all day long when for weeks we've been doing just that for what felt like a hundred times a day on the range. But this isn't the range any longer with human-shaped targets, these are actual people.

But they are also the bad guys.

I didn't question his resolve and simply said back, "Send it!" waiting for the 'i_crack/I_'of the shot, which I did hear, though delayed. To cover for the moment that propellant gases and the shock of kick back obscured his vision, binos set on the man who had taken a moment to rest, back to wall and peeking around, I thought I would be audience to our first kill. Instead, sand spray just beside the target made him jump, thoroughly scaring the man back to where he came from.

He _purposely_ missed the shot. On the first lethal engagement of the platoon.

"I can't do it," is what had come out of his mouth next, shakier than I've ever seen him. Couldn't do it? I still don't understand. This was our objective, our main responsibility, and he couldn't complete what we've methodically done over and over again? There's thrill to pulling the trigger, the satisfaction of hitting your target, so why couldn't he do it? At that moment I knew we would hear hell about this from our instructor. Him and I had a back and forth about reporting the event, which of course is protocol, but I was the one to pick up the radio and report in, which instantly rewarded us with a staticky reprimand.

Soon after we packed up, radioed to our guards that we were coming down, and radioed for an armored vehicle to pick us up. During that time spent waiting for the vehicle I noticed how jittery my partner appeared.

Later tonight I heard word that after dinner my partner was reassigned to the troops in Sector 5. I don't know the whole story behind the exact why, but I can infer. It sounds like he opted out to join the clean up crew where all there is to do is sweep away debris and bodies. Weeks of intense training in sniper academy and the intense initiation that comes with it, months of PT and marksmanship practice along with test after written test only to opt out of the scout/sniper platoon we all worked so hard to get into?

It seems like such a waste.

----

Day Four

23 July 1907

Sector 17 - Western Ishbal

2320 hours

Today, for the first time since joining the academy, I disobeyed a direct order. I feel horrible. At first I thought I was doing the right thing, but now I understand, even if being sorry won't bring back those lost.

We set up our hide spot deeper in the city inside a marketplace overlooking a reported route that the insurgents use to lead in and out of their eastern desert trails. It was 0400 hours and that meant enough cover of night to move without worrying much about being detected. The area of operation had gotten a "spray and pray" from the newer troops yesterday, the ones that had come with us cadets, so any rebel in their right mind had fled the area or was dead. Civillians were still in the area, but they were mostly traders waiting for mules to carry in everyday supplies for the neighborhood's market. Our job was to pick off anyone coming in through those trails that were hauling more malicious supplies, likely of Aerugo origin.

As we travelled to the hide, I noticed spent 6.5x54 mm bullets scattered around the streets which meant there are, or were, enemy snipers in the area. I told my instructor, Master Gunnery Sergeant Richmond Fischer, but he had already noticed and simply noted my observational skills as if it should have been obvious. It was, but he could have had more tact. By that point we had gotten to the hide so if anyone was there to shoot us, they would have tried it already.

My instructor was there to evaluate and oversee my field performance which meant no switching off with fellow cadets from sniper to spotter position. It was rather exciting considering I hadn't the chance to shoot in all four days of being in Ishbal, so I thought I might get my first valid shot in, confirmed kill or not. However, as the day wore on and the day got much hotter, much hotter than before, it proved to be ianother/i dry day. I suspect word had gotten out about yesterday so those in the know held off their shipments into the city. It's getting frustrating though. We were promised action on the front lines prior to deployment and so far there hasn't been a kill among us, save for a plausible two days ago by Private First Class Alvin Mann at 220 meters.

Nearing noon, though, when it was unbearably hot, both me and my instructor stripping ourselves of our impromptu ghillie suits that consisted of our tan cloaks, there came a dozen or so figures over the dune nearest to the city's edge.

Guess they didn't get the memo.

I had been scanning a point of interest, the corner to the, by then, bustling market when my instructor, who was focused on the horizon, said, "Tradesmen at 12 o'clock, 8 of them, the boy beside the mule. Prepare to engage." Which just sounded trigger happy to me, but when I got my scope on them, I saw what he meant; the average-looking adults were crowded around a boy who carried a bag that was far too heavy for him. At closer inspection, I saw the edges of ammunition boxes peeking out of the bag. There had been reports of children and women being used as everything from signalers to packmules, like this boy, a good trick since no one is willing to take out either. I'm not willing to, anyway.

Still, we watched the group until they got into the marketplace, a keen eye on the boy, until he decided to break off from the group 15 minutes later toward Sector 19. I couldn't believe it. Sector 19 was hosting a skirmish sparked around midnight last night and word this morning was that the rebels were almost beaten back from their attempt at overtaking the military's "safe ground" border. The only reason for that was a suspected decline of ammunition on the rebel group's end. This boy was going to carry to the rebels what could potentially tip the scales in their favor. But he was still just a child.

"Range-545 meters, no wind correction. Engage." When he said that, I just couldn't respond. Was it not the shooting of a child that started this war? I took my eye away from the scope and just stared at him, which earned me a glare that, after spending weeks with the man, wasn't as scary as it used to be though it still commanded submission. Then he said, "You have a clear shot, Hawkeye, take it." and I don't know what I was thinking, why I didn't listen for the first time in my military career, but I said, "No, sir."

That just infuriated him. He snatched up his Geweher 98 and opened up suppressive fire with all 10 rounds of the magazine. I still just stared, what got into me I'll never know, watching with my naked eye the last three shots hit nothing but sand and wall. When the ringing in both our ears died down, the outcome was...not what I expected at the time. The boy had rounded the corner, gone, completely out of sight and the roads were clear save for the shouts of wary tradesmen. My instructor's anger with me and my...what can only be described as hesitation now, let the target get away.

I said, "I'm sorry, sir." and he began to shout at me, all I remember now is his question and my response. He said, "Would you have taken the shot if it was an adult?" I paused for a long time when he deserved a snap answer and muttered, "Yes, sir."

For my insubordination, I've been ordered to spend the next week at camp...with latrine duty. They can't keep me out of the game for too long, there weren't any snipers to begin with. I deserve it, though, especially after hearing the outcome of my fumble. Sector 19 had seven casualties late this afternoon when the insurgents opened renewed fire on their lines. I just - [rest of line is scribbled out]

I should've taken the shot.

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Day Thirteen

1 August 1909

Sector 19 - Western Ishbal

2255 hours

Next to my wind variance notes I recorded my first confirmed kill.

They say everyone reacts differently to their first kill, that there's no way of knowing how you will until meeting your target in the crosshairs for the first time. That some emotional detachment has to come with the job or you'll have to quit. I have no intention of quitting anything ever, this war included.

I barely saw the man. He was too far for me to hear him fall, but I saw it. I could only see his head and part of his arm, the part pulling the trigger, but I saw it. He was an enemy sniper, holed up above the defensive lines I've been charged to protect. After my punishment was up, or forgotten, as my instructor hadn't said a word about it since last week, I got a G98 to replace my hand-me-down 1888 after the bolt jammed. I fixed it, but the Gewehr is a nice change of pace and what helped take out the counter sniper, I'm sure. The hit was one in a million, or so Captain Hughes claims, which is an outlandish statistic, but such a statement somehow...validates the kill and makes me proud that I got it. Perhaps I'm just building a moral case for the kills that are yet to come, but I know that if I didn't take the shot today, our defensive line would have been picked off one by one.

The first sign that he was there, in the nondescript building from about 800 meters away from my position, was a shot that made contact with an infantryman's abdomen. When he cried out, I quickly scanned my points of interest that I had mapped out prior that morning and noticed the flash from a muzzle through my scope. It was a strange sight though. The Ishballans don't have any formal training military-wise. Anyone can shoot a gun with a little practice, but it takes a marksman to even think about taking up a sniper position. Granted, I think the shot he got on our man was a lucky one, but I wasn't prepared to let his luck repeat itself.

The adrenaline I felt when I knew this would be my first kill, a difficult one or not, was unexpected. No one teaches you how to prepare for your first except for how to keep breathing steady enough as to not ruin your aim. Breath in through the nose, out through the mouth, slow and steady. My problem was compounded by a northeastern breeze and the sheer distance. I was stretching the capabilities of my rifle, one that I have only practiced with back at the range. A flip through my databook confirmed that I would be aiming a few meters ahead of the target, small as he was, so the drift wouldn't knock off the shot. My heart pounded in my chest over the possibilities that could ruin the bullet's trajectory; a gust, the distance, my own folly, or the man changing his position, which was in the window, plain as day. It took me a good few minutes to line up the shot and to calm down, but from what I seen, the other sniper was busy reloading what looked like a Mannlicher Schoenauer.

Lucky for me, because this shot would have to follow our mantra, 'ione shot, one kill/i' in order to make it work and not just scare the man off for him to shoot at us another day. It frightened me enough that there were enemy snipers, not alone to see one in action. I lined up my crosshairs on his temple only to pull it to his right, past the tip of his gun's barrel, double checked my calculations mentally before squeezing the trigger.

The break of the air around the bullet was delayed enough to not notify the target of my position, which didn't matter anyway, because I watched the tinges of silver hair fall away from the window. Thrill, at first was all I felt, so much so that I almost forgot to radio in the kill, or, at that point, what could have been nothing but a miss. Since I was flying solo, I sent a sitrep to someone by the name of Kain Fuery asking for a team to go and confirm the kill. The kid sounded excited for the report since it had probably been dead waves all day before I called in. Sure enough, I got a call back about 20 minutes later to verify my kill.

It still feels so bizarre, even while sitting here back at camp. I have blood on my hands, but it doesn't feel like it. You don't see the bloods and guts like an infantryman would. It's a rather...privileged position in comparison. I still haven't gathered my thoughts on the matter, but I should turn in for the night. I have to wake up early for a briefing concerning the platoon being sent past what grounds the military has captured and secured. I wonder how it will change things...

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Thanks for reading! Part Two full of action and drama is coming soon! Comment and critique are more than welcomed! :]


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